Dominant Wife Severely Punishes Slave Husband

Slave Husband’s Disciplinary Suffering

Miley was let from the car first. She brought the shovel and pick out from the trunk, unloaded the bags holding their bloody and dirty clothes, and gave a wave to Kirsten and Patricia. She carried the bags into the garage, then put the tools in the shed behind the house. Musing on the night’s activities, she let herself in the back door.

At once she went to the refrigerator and poured herself a large glass of milk. It soothed her dry throat and she licked her lips.

On her way to the master bedroom she slipped her own grime-slicked dress over her head and left it in the bathroom’s trashcan. She climbed into the shower and scrubbed herself down, languishing in the stream as it massaged her spine and the base of her neck . Miley stayed until the last of the hot water was gone.

She toweled down vigorously, then stroked baby talc over her alabaster skin and then, stretching, she stepped into the bedroom.

It was almost midnight, but she was far from bed. She still intended to party.

For some minutes she touched up her face with make-up. She slipped into a leather panty-thong, then a luxuriant full-body leather jumpsuit, which Miley laced at her wrists and ankles. She slid a pair of four-inch pumps onto her feet. Then she pulled the zipper at her crotch up until it came between her breasts, and around her waist she belted a three-inch wide stiff leather belt.

From a stand meant for holding wigs, Miley tenderly lifted a richly-fashioned executioner’s hood. She stroked its smoothness with her fingers; the breath in her throat, she let the soft leather fall over her face and hair. It was loose, spreading over her shoulders and upon her nape. She glanced into the mirror upon her oak dresser . the hood covered the top half of her face, and she met her eyes through the cut cat eyes. She saw her shadowed eyes, her cruel lips. Miley blew a kiss at her image.

Light-footed, she made her way through the house, down two flights of stairs, past the back door. At the bottom of the basement stairs there was a three-foot squared landing, with a metal fire door set between walls of cinder block and foundation concrete.

The door wasn’t meant to keep others out. Miley took the deadbolt key from its peg and fit it into the lock. It opened smoothly, and she entered.

With immense satisfaction, she took in the basement, built to her personal tastes. Glazed terra-cotta tiles, powdered cinder block walls, black lighting. In the near darkness, Miley picked out the working rack, the cage, the bondage chair and the horse . she grinned, knowing of one thing more which was not, at the moment, visible.

She reached a flipped a switch.

A spotlight lit upon the naked male strung out over a two-foot thick, three-foot high stone cylinder, rounded at the top and resembling a stiff male penis. It was set into the center of a shallow bowl, all set with tile, and a bondage ring set at each sign of the clock. The male was spread-eagled. Ropes leading from his wrists and ankles used four of the available rings, the forebone of his hip pressing upon the great cock’s head. His face appeared above his shoulders, as he lifted it towards Miley, features contorted in pain and exhaustion. Seeing her, his agony briefly gave over to grateful recognition . and then, helplessly, he dropped his head once again.

“Hello dear .” she said sweetly. “I’m home.”

It was her husband Jim. Her slave of eighteen months, of his own free will . in the beginning.

He’d never been a strong man. Three weeks after they’d met, Jim cried on her shoulder over some small thing, a depression he felt about losing his job. Miley remembered holding him, fascinated both by his vulnerability and his weakness, and still finding herself falling deep into desire for him. Their relationship grew . and he admitted his personal quest for bondage and discipline. She listened to his stories, to his requests, and began to explore them herself . and she learned.

By the time of their marriage, their experiments had already become involved.

At first, she simply tied him down . she gave him instructions, at his urging, at how he should make love to her, to truly please her. He wanted to know everything about her body, what places brought her the most pleasure-and he desperately wanted her to be his quality control, to keep him on his toes, to insure that he was always her perfect lover. If he wasn ‘t, Jim told her, she should feel free to punish him. And by that, he meant that she should use a whip.

Her own awakening had only come with time. At first, she didn’t understand his fascination for receiving the pain he so wanted her to give. She could comprehend at once her own reward . but long habit in more “vanilla” relationships filled her with mystification whenever she saw him stretched out, ready for the whip. At first, guilt for causing him simple pain or discomfort kept her awake at night . but that she could learn to push aside, for he so clearly wanted her to be cruel. The guilt which came afterwards was more insidious. Miley found that, for the longest time, she hated herself for having a dark, inner soul-a soul that liked hurting him.

When had she realized that she did? When was the first time she’d lifted the whip without a single thought for him? Miley couldn’t remember. Dimly, there were clues still in her, reminding herself that she must have cried afterwards for the little part of her that broke that long-lost day; but the clues were mere wisps . the Miley now could not relate to the Miley then.

Was she insane? Undoubtedly. Again, Miley marked the instruments of torture about her and found herself bemused by their presence. They’d been collected and constructed over time-most of them between the time of their marriage and the evolution of the bond between them: the day she tied him up . and never let him go.

Miley turned her attention again to her slave husband, bound over the stone cock. Jim was being punished. A month before, Patricia had suggested that Miley get more involved with others in the community. Agreeing, Miley had taken Jim to a bondage party in Calgary. She made it quite clear to Jim that they must make a good first impression; she fixed him into a harness, dressed him in a pair of spandex bike pants and a muscle shirt. She cuffed him, and they rode from Red Deer to Calgary with Jim laying quietly on the back seat.

The party was at a private house. There were a dozen people about, in various stages of dress, discussing whips and paddles and so on. Jim was forced on display for the inspection of the other dominant women, and Miley pondered how good it would be for Jim, over time, to get out, to know that he was a slave, even among others. Even in public.

She didn’t know then that he was about to embarrass her.

The Hostess of the party, a pre-operative transsexual calling herself Kim, had offered to suspend a volunteer from the ceiling. Miley offered Jim. He went forward obediently, taking his clothes off. Kim hung him up by his wrists with a chair and little difficulty and, as the room looked on, Jim dangled, toes a few inches above the floor.

“Whip him,” had said Miley.

Kim selected a white-and-blue knotted cat-o-nine-tails, and then addressed Jim: “Do you understand that my safe-word is green?”

Jim nodded absent-mindedly, wanting only to be polite . but it incited Miley’s anger a touch . the ire could be heard in her reply: “My slave doesn’t play with safe words,” she said.

“That’s not a good idea,” said Kim.

“I’m his Mistress,” returned Miley. “I’m his owner. I will say when he’ s had enough. Whip him as hard as you like.”

Miley knew what she was suggesting. One of the slaves at the party, a petite Japanese girl, had already been turned out for everyone’s interest. Her master demonstrated her ass, which had been so bruised that the skin seemed like onion paper laid upon her richly blackened cellulite . the blood hemorrhage was quite distinct-and had been achieved by daily beatings with a most deliberate effort.

Kim looked into Miley’s eyes and saw truth. Without a word, she exchanged the cat for a flexible slapper fashioned from a dozen layers of kitchen-counter arborite strips, each an inch wide, epoxied together to make a thick “finger.” Two fingers were then attached to a single handle. As Kim picked it up, the slapper’s flexible lengths gently waved. “Can I hit him with this?” Kim asked.

Miley raised an eyebrow. Jim had never felt anything like it before. “Go ahead,” she said, her voice eager.

Kim didn’t strike with all her force, at first. Jim howled only at the third blow . but six more showed that he could stand it. Kim drew back for a firmer onslaught.

When it began, Jim gasped, and lost his wind. His body contracted, his feet rose from the floor, knees bent-his hands strained for the ceiling, dragging his whole weight upon his wrists. The second and third blows elicited a frenzied screaming from the bottom of his throat . a fourth, a fifth blow landed with brutal force. Jim cried. He gnashed the air with his teeth. His legs kicked, straining for purchase and finding none . the muscles and fat of his abdomen rippled.

Kim watched these coilations with delight as she continued to slash at him . but at a total of twenty-two blows, she broke it off, letting Jim’s shrieks fade away. She glanced at Miley.

Miley nodded. “He can handle ten more of those,” she said quietly.

Jim’s head snapped up. “NO!” he shouted. “Please . no!”

Kim guaged Miley’s reaction. Miley’s teeth were set-she verged on displeasure with Jim’s pathetic displays-and she repeated, “Ten.”

Kim shrugged, and began again.

Every eye was drawn by the electricity of Jim’s suffering. Miley looked around herself, and decided that this was a pleasure she’d have much, much more often. The wonderful excitement of being able to display her slave for everyone’s amusement started a wetness in her that rose up from between her legs, heating her. What a coup! she thought. All these people, whom she’d just met, now fascinated with her, admiring her, and stunned by the ready, submissive tool that Jim had become.

Just as that thought came, however, Jim shattered everything.

“GREEN!” he cried out. “GREEN, GREEN, GREEEEEEN!”

Kim stopped at once.

None of the spectators breathed or spoke for almost a minute. Only Jim’s long wailing, followed by whimpering and tiny cries as the fire upon his asscheeks diminished, broke the silence.

“I’m sorry,” said Kim. “I can’t continue after he’s used the safe-word.”

“I’m sorry too,” said Miley. “Could you please bring him down?”

Kim and one of the men brought a chair for Jim to stand on, and they released him. At once Jim fell at Miley’s feet, kissing her boots and begging forgiveness. “Get dressed,” said Miley. “We’re leaving.” She said nothing else.

No one dared ask them to stay-they kept their eyes averted and wished the tension would just go away. Miley’s anger burned so visibly that they wanted no part of what they knew would happen.

Miley was shocked. Jim had embarrassed her beyond forgiveness. She knew his pain threshold, knew that under her own hand he’d have accepted the remaining blows without complaint . but none of the people in the room would ever believe that she was anything but an irresponsible sadist-and so she couldn’t show her face in their company again. Ever.

Miley could barely restrain herself from blacking both his eyes and bloodying his nose. She allowed Jim to follow her meekly from the party to their car, and let him him sit in the front seat for appearances sake-and though his ass gave him good reason to wince, he knew better than to show it as he sat down.

After driving away, however, Miley came to a dark school yard a few blocks away, where she made Jim get out of the car. Angrily, she slapped him, viciously, until he cowered again on his knees. She said nothing to him, opening the trunk. From among the paraphernalia within, she snapped up a roll of duct tape and quickly strapped together his wrists, elbows, ankles, and knees, effectively immobilizing him. Ruthlessly she pulled him from the ground and tipped him backwards into the trunk, not caring that he landed on several iron tools, the tire jack and the bondage toys kept there for convenience. Miley clutched at one now, a three-inch penis gag, and drove it between his teeth . she fixed it tightly around his head, slammed the hood down and returned to the driver’s seat.

It took more than an hour to drive to Red Deer. Miley fumed, turning the radio on and off the whole trip, unable to be satisfied either way. Hearing the music as it alternately blared and vanished, Jim correctly concluded that her fury wouldn’t quickly subside.

She didn’t let him out of the trunk that night. She parked the car in the garage and left him locked in until the next afternoon . fifteen hours passed before she could bring herself to see him again without causing him a real injury.

It had taken two months for Patricia to give her a chance with the bondage group. Miley had pleaded for the chance-she’d imagined her influence being felt by the group, and that with the prestige she’d win there’d be other things she could do-she might even become part of Patricia’s faction, though Miley hardly understood what that meant. But now that was destroyed. Jim had destroyed it. Patricia would hear about the faux pas. Miley dreaded that . and she didn’t know what punishment she could ascribe to Jim to make up for that dread. She only knew she didn’t want him to have the pleasure of seeing her face. So when she finally returned to the car, she wore the hood.

She cut his ankles and wrists free of the duct tape with a utility knife, leaving his elbows and knees strictly bound. She removed the penis gag, but made it clear without speaking that he, too, should be silent. Jim didn’t need to be told. He didn’t resist as she pulled him unkindly through the house to the basement . where Miley threw him into the cage and left him.

The “cage” had, at one time, been a closet. Together, Jim and Miley had gone to work on it, replacing the existing dry-wall with sheets of tin, riveted on the back to the concrete foundation and otherwise to the wooden stud-walls. They’d polished the overlapping seams, finally soldering them so that Jim wouldn’t someday be able to pull up the edges with his fingers. At the front, instead of a wooden door, they’d attached a door made up of metal bars, wide enough for him to get his arms through, but no more. It measured four feet by twenty inches, which was just enough for him to sleep in a fetal position. He could stand upright, and sometimes Miley would chain his hands to the ceiling.

The interior was completely sanitary, if cold to the touch . sunken about three inches below the level of the floor, it had a three-inch hole in the center floor where he could defecate or urinate, which Miley emptied with a wet vacuum when the small septic tank below was full. Sometimes she would fix a plug in the hole and let him lie in his own waste.

Building it had been a moment of growing together for them. Jim had still been in the position of urging Miley to more ambitious experimentations then, and he, as much as her, was proud of the way the cage had been designed. At the most, he’d imagined spending a few hours in it . perhaps, in the back of his mind, Jim had fantasized about a much longer period-but never seriously. Miley left Jim in the cage for two weeks. She would appear each morning, hood over her face, holding the dog’s dish, filled with exactly twenty-two hundred calories of watery paste resembling ice-cold oatmeal. This was to be his day’s rations. Each day, he pushed out his empty dish from the day before, through the three-inch slot in the bottom of the door, and she would push in his fresh food.

She didn’t speak-not a word. Jim tried, the second day, to talk to her . after a week he thrust himself at the bars, reaching through, wanting to touch her, wanting her to speak her anger-he even dared scream at her. Miley responded by gazing at him expressionlessly for several minutes, then turning with his full dish and leaving him alone in the basement.

That ended all attempts of his to talk for some time. A full day without food sufficiently broke him. When Miley returned the next morning with his normal caloric provision-dog food, instead of gruel-he took it as silently as she gave it.

Long days spent inside the cage, with no view but the violet-lit sight of the other available tortures occupying the dungeon, gave Jim time to think. He suffered from hunger, since the calories were barely enough for him (and he suspected she was reducing them each cumulative day), and from a craving for solid food. Often he found himself gazing longingly at the steel door set into the cinder-block entrance way, separating him irrevocably from the outside world . Jim couldn’t help reassessing all his original tastes for submission. Wryly he though-when he had the energy to think-that it hardly mattered what his tastes were and were not any longer. He had succeeded in recreating Miley into his fantasy image . and old story. Galatea crippling Pygmalion.

After two weeks, the punishments began.

He still wasn’t allowed to see Miley’s face, or hear her voice, at least for the first week. Those beginning tortures were quick affairs, lasting but a few hours . but their brevity was more than made up for in raw fury. Miley struck him without finesse, unable to resist her desire for pure compensation. She breathed heavily, through her teeth, driven by revenge. She clubbed or whipped him for an hour at a time; she fucked him until the skin inside tore and bled, which Miley remedied by stuffing him with tampons; she tied his cock to a four-foot, inch-thick dowling rod, which stuck out on either side of her body . and amused herself for an evening by hitting the opposing sides with her riding crop.

Her favorite punishment, however, was the rack, which she applied at the end of the first week. Jim had never even known that it really worked; they’d had it built by a contractor which Patricia suggested . it was meant to be a bench, more for show than for use . or so he’d thought. Jim had no idea that Miley had ever rigged it for real effect-he wasn’t even scared, on the first day, to let her tie him down to it. But by the second day he was thoroughly terrified . and Miley seemed indifferent to that, or to the horrific possibility that he’d never walk again.. For two terrible days, twenty-four hours to be exact, she’d left him on it, rolling it a half-turn every hour-enough to stretch him a half centimeter each time.

Insidiously, she’d moved a chime-clock into the dungeon, which rang on the quarter hour. Jim would hear the quarter change, a pattern of four notes, a quarter after then hour, then the same pattern followed by another, at half-past. Sometimes Miley was absent; sometimes she would be sitting, comfortably on a padded stool, watching him, beside the table where he was stretched. As he felt the minutes of his time ebbing away, Jim’s pleas would increase in desperation and intensity. He tried every ploy . he addressed her formally, and as his wife, by name and by pet names; he talked nostalgically . he talked about all their plans, about moments when they’d laughed, about her family, about his. And through it all, she would listen, never taking her eyes, in their cat-like frames, from his. The third quarter would strike the clock . and Jim would scream at her,

“Miley . stop this! Miley . I love you! You know I love you! We’ve been together for four years, and it’s good, it’s all right that you want me as a slave. I want it, too! Oh god, Miley! You know I want it! But . oh Christ, I’m dying! I can FEEL my bones pulling from their sockets! One more turn and you could cripple me for life! FOREVER, Miley, forever and ever . and THEN WHERE WILL YOU BE? I won’t be a slave, I won’t be able to move! Please-Christ, Miley. Miley, listen, OH GOD, WHY WON’T YOU LISTEN TO ME? Please, I love you! Do you hear me? You told me you loved me too . oh please, please, please! NO MORE! I DON’T WANT TO BE A CRIPPLE! Miley! DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND?”

Through it all, she’d sit impassively, making no expression at all. Then the clock would sound, playing through the four changes of the full hour; then a pause; then the striking of the clock . and Miley would rise as it began, moving to the great, many-spoked wheel fixed to the table.

By means of steel cords and carefully set gears, the wheel’s turn allowed for a great swing in exchange for a tiny, precision gain in tension. But, taut as he was, very little extension was needed.

Her hands would touch the wheel. Still, utterly without expression, as both of them would hear the echo from the last strike of the clock . the wheel would turn in her hands.

Screaming, back arching, Jim suffered the newly-pressed drawing . with infinite patience Miley would complete the tur, observing him passively, mechanically, never allowing the corners of her mouth to betray the immense satisfaction she received.

Then she’d return to her seat, to watch Jim by degrees, reaccustom his body to the fresh agony. And then the play would begin again .

That night, Miley freed him from the rack. Jim couldn’t guess if the damage to his arms and legs was permanent. He had to crawl by inches from the rack to the cage . where she then allowed him to remain for the following thirty-six hours. He couldn’t sleep for the pain . until the next morning, after he ate his gruel, which he suspected included painkillers that Miley had crushed into the mixture. All that day and the next night, he slept groggily.

Upon awakening, he sat her, upon her stool, outside his cage. For the first time, he heard her voice.

“It’s been three weeks since your pathetic weakness brought us both to this,” Miley announced. Jim had been unsure of the time . he thought it might have been twelve days, or fifteen.

“I wish you to know that your punishments will be yet another three weeks,” she continued; “. if you perform satisfactorily. During that time you will still be denied the sight of my face. Also during that time, you will not be permitted to speak.

“As I listened to your pathetic pleading during your trial on my rack, I found myself wondering-with no little amusement-if there was anything you could say that could move me. For that reaso, I allowed you to utter out your every though as you pleased. I am happy to say that none of your gobblingh affected me at all-as no doubt the feeling in your joints will testify. Therefore, since you’ve failed to raise any pity in my, you won’t be give further opportunities to plead your case.

“The punishment for the first word spoken, by you, in the next three weeks, will be a day without food. You shall spend that day with a penis gag in your mouth. For the second word, you shall spend a similar day standing in your cage, while I torment you. If you are stupid enough to utter a third word, you’ll earn yourself two days without food and an additional week of punishment. And so on. Please nod if this is all perfectly clear.”

Jim nodded.

“Good,” said Miley. “You’ll be happy to learn that I’ve been granted a week’s vacation, and so there will be nothing for the next little while to interrupt our lessons.”

Miley stepped out of sight for a moment, and then back into his view. Now she was holding a familiar looking slapper fashioned out of kitchen formica. The two fingers waved menacingly. “You recognize this, yes? This is the little item that began all these troubles. And so it is only fitting that your road to recovery should begin here .”

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